


The Bird and the Worm

by Novaviis



Series: Watercolour [7]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DC Animated Universe, Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I mean more issues, Mind Control, bruce is going to have so many fucking issues after this, implied birdflash - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 04:08:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8474785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novaviis/pseuds/Novaviis
Summary: A robbery bust gone wrong ends in Batman under mind control with one objective - shoot Robin. The aftermath leaves Bruce questioning what exactly his greatest fear is.





	

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

“You cannot defeat a man without fear. You cannot break a man who has mastered his greatest fears. So, what do you do?”

Silence had coiled tight around every throat in the room.

“It wasn’t a rhetorical question.”

On a table, in the middle of the room, was a little glass jar. Entirely unassuming, it had every appearance of a child’s science project. Inside the little glass jar, was a little white worm.

“The answer is quite simple. You give him a knew fear. Oh, how different it is when the worm kills the bird.”

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

 

The city was quieter than most people would think. Most people in the rest of the country in any case. They might expect heavy base music shaking the foundations of the city, distant and all-too-close gunshots slapping off highrise walls, so much noise that laughter and screams became indistinguishable. They might expect more action, more movement in the streets; car chases, fires, brawls spilling out of the clubs and casinos. They would describe Gotham City as a war zone.

But it was quiet. The air was ambient with passing cars and white noise, but that was really all. At least up on the highrise, it was peaceful in an eerie sort of way. Contrary to popular belief, not every night in Gotham wrought disaster. Thank God too. They’d never get a decent night’s sleep.

Robin leaned easily out over the edge of the building, the cable on his belt keeping him steadily anchored to a gargoyle. This earned a disapproving glare from Batman, something he was quick to shake off. It was just a patrol tonight, not other business to attend to than to make sure the city was secure.

With just an exchanged glance and a nod, the two of them released their lines and began a free fall down the height of the building. A cold wind bit at Robin’s face, but the thrill pumped a supernova into his veins. With an echoing laugh, he followed on Batman’s trail, capes catching the wind, grappling hooks latching onto the closest roof top and swinging them up.

“There’s a robbery in progress,” Batman reported as he moved silently to the opposite edge of the roof top. Robin was close behind, peering over to watch as a group of men plundered a big box electronic store. They’d broken the front window and disabled the silent alarm, and were now stepping over broken glass with as much loot as they could stuff into the back of their van. Two clerks had been tied up and beaten inside.

Robin scoffed. “Petty theft? Not to betray little faith in the GCPD, but I think they can handle a little job like this without us.”

Batman was quick to snap back. “Nothing is too little, Robin. Doesn’t matter if it’s a purse snatcher or a criminal mastermind-“

“It’s our responsibility to stop them regardless. Alright, you got me, fair enough.” Robin replied. It was easy enough to let the adventure and legend go to his head. He got caught up sometimes. Bruce never reprimanded him for it, but was always there with a stern reminder. Robin straightened up and turned back to his mentor. “Can I take this one?” he asked hopefully.

Batman seemed to deliberate for a moment. “Hostages first. Be quick.”

Robin grinned, shooting his mentor a mock salute as his line clicked loose and he tumbled into a freefall down the height of the building. Once again, he shot his grappling hook out again, catching a streetlamp and swinging onto the roof of the truck. He landed in a roll, his movements silent and furtive as he continued off the momentum and leapt off. Over the oblivious heads of the criminals, he soared through the broken window and landed in the shadows of the store. One man walked passed him, picking up a box from the corner and carrying it back out to the van.

Robin timed their movements, waiting until their backs were turned before creeping across the floor to the cashier desk on the other side. The clerks had been tied back to back, gagged and beaten with what Robin could cell was a blunt object – a baton maybe. The two young men jumped when he emerged from the shadows. Robin pressed a finger to his mouth in a hushing gesture. Realizing who he was, it was all the clerks could do not to cry in relief.

Another goon came back. Robin ducked back out of sight on the other side of the desk. He counted down until the man turned with his look back toward the van outside before rushing out. Using a bataraang, he sliced at the rope and the zip ties around their wrists and feet. “Stay here,” he whispered, leaving no time for them to respond before slipping away again.

Outside, one of the men called to another inside. “Hurry the fuck up, Dan! Cops’ll be here any minute.”

The thug in question waltzed back out, boots crunching on broken glass, carrying a pillowcase full of USB drives and small hardware. “What’s the rush, Mike? This shit’ll pay for our retirement. I, for one, plan to enjoy myself,” he grinned.

They were a greasy lot, all hair slicked back and so much gaudy gold jewelry they couldn’t walk straight. The one inside, Dan, seemed to get a kick out of torturing the others, who all stood around the van. They fidgeted nervously, each glancing around the corner in tandem, just waiting for blue and red lights to shine off the buildings.

The man behind the wheel of the van leaned out and put up his middle finger at Dan. “Go fuck yourself, man! I’m not going back to jail just because you got greedy?”

Dan’s eyes narrowed as he stepped out onto the pavement. “Lou did you seriously just fucking flip me the bird?”

On que, Robin flipped over the criminal from behind, planting the soles of his boots on the man’s face and pushing off to land in the middle of the group. “Nope,” he grinned, “that would be me.” They just made it too _easy_.

The thugs burst into a panicked frenzy.

“Shit! It’s the Bat’s brat!”

“The hell’s he doing here?!”

“Don’t just fuckin’ stand there, shoot the little bastard!”

Robin struck out before the two closest to him had the chance to grab their guns. He flipped back, bracing on his hands as he kicked them in the stomach, knocking them back through the glass. He followed through on the momentum, springing to his feet and disarming the next one over. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?” he quipped. “That’s some industrial-soap-in-the-mouth level stuff,” Robin delivered a swift uppercut to an advancing man’s jaw. “Then again, I’ve heard worse.”

 “Christ kid, do you ever shut up?” asked one of the men he’d kicked through the window.

“Not really. When it gets quiet,” Robin grinned, “that’s when you know shit’s about to hit the fan.”

Before any of them could ask when he meant, a massive shadow descended upon the street. Batman landed in a crouch in front of his partner, slowly rising to full height. His attention, however, wasn’t immediately on the stunned criminals. He glanced back at the boy over his should. “Language, Robin,” he grunted.

Robin only shrugged. “Hey, I’m young and impressionable.”

That, it would seem, as all the time the assembles scum needed to recover from shock. In an instant, the duo surged into action. They were outnumbered about seven to two, meaning that the odds were stacked immeasurably in their favour. Working in tandem, back to back and with perfected movements, the two of them disarmed and subdued the criminals before a single one of them had the chance to discharge their weapons. All the while, Robin could only see Batman moving from the corner of his vision. It was all he needed, all either of them needed. Second nature at this point. And so, though it only lasted for a second, Robin noticed the cocky one, Dan, taking a lucky, open handed swipe at the side of Batman’s head. He was rewarded with a swift punch to the solar plexus.

Within a minute, all seven men were immobilized, moaning on the ground and cursing their luck. Robin dusted off his gloves with a smirk, taking a length of cable from his utility belt. One by one, he dragged them to the nearest light pole and tied them around it. “I think we can leave these ones for Gordon to pick up in the morning, Boss. Or the garbage truck, whichever comes first.”

As Robin tied off his cable, he turned around, expecting as always to find Batman waiting for him to finish up. There would be a few words, well-meaning critics mostly, before they took to the rooftops again. Not tonight. Batman was stooping down to pick up one of the guns the men had dropped. Clean up, he supposed. Wasn’t wise to leave dangerous weapons like these on the streets where next week’s robbers could sweep it up. Batman avoided touching guns like the plague when he could. They didn’t usually do this, but it made sense right? Why else would Batman be picking up the highest caliber weapon he could find?

But then he checked the magazine. Robin frowned, going still. “Batman?” he called out.

No reply. Batman rose up.

Robin swallowed. “Batman?”

Batman turned to face his partner, aiming the gun directly at him. Blood was dripping down from his nose. Robin’s heart shuddered in his throat. “Batman!”

Robin heard the shot slapping off the city walls before he registered that he had back flipped out of the way. He landed in a crouch, springing off to the side as concrete debris sprayed up from where he’d been two seconds before.

Batman was shooting at him. Batman, who refused to kill, who wouldn’t touch a gun if you put one to his head. Robin ducked behind the van, pressing his back against the wall as he fought to catch his breath. No time to panic. Something was wrong, he knew that much. He also knew that in a situation like _this_ , pride couldn’t get in the way. There was no chance that he could handle Batman on his own, not when he was out for blood.

Batman jumped over to the top of the van, descending on him like something straight out of hell. Robin rolled out of the way, clumsy – the fear was getting to him. Pushing through it, he rolled to his feet and struck out with his fist. He didn’t quite believe he would get a hit, too many hours spent sparring with his mentor gave him enough evidence for that. The motivation wasn’t to get in a hit. While Batman effortlessly moved out of the way, Robin spun around and kicked the gun out of his hand. The weapon went skidding across the pavement.

Batman lashed out with a roar, catching Robin by the throat. He could have crushed his windpipe, he could have done it so easily as he lifted the boy off the ground inch by inch – but he didn’t. Batman threw him, hard, into the brick wall of the adjacent building. When Robin recovered, he found Batman turning away from him entirely and walking calmly back toward the gun.

This was objective based, he realized. Whatever was happening to Batman wasn’t making him want to kill Robin – it was making him want to _shoot_ him.

Grappling through the throbbing in his head to regain his senses, Robin activated the transmitter on his glove, a little red light popping up from his wrist as he spoke. “B01 to Watchtower. Robin to League. Code Red, Priority Alpha –“

Robin’s ears were ringing with his own scream before the felt the pain. His vision blurred, half a second, and when he looked down, a batarang was sticking out of his glove, tearing into his wrist. It hadn’t struck bone, he could tell that much immediately, but it had destroyed his only means of communication with the league. His vision cleared, a dark shape ahead of him morphing into his mentor. Batman raised his gun again, cold, calm, and Robin was motivated by fear alone to rip the blade out of his forearm and dodge out of the way.

Robin couldn’t fight him. He needed to get away, catch his breath. Batman was infinitely stronger, but Robin was faster, and an acrobat. Shooting his grapple onto the nearest rooftop, Robin leapt up into the air with Batman close behind. He knew he’d follow, so when Robin was half way up his line, he released it. His cape caught the wind as he fell past Batman, out of his reach but not yet out of his range. Batman trained the gun on him and fired twice, missing both times. In his free fall, he managed to blast his grappling hook up to a roof top on the other side of the street. Robin swung up, feet slipping for a moment when a bullet whizzed past his ear. Still, he held on, using the fire escape to boost himself up and run across the roof tops. Now that he had a bit of distance, it was a matter of speed, and staying out of range.

With speed on his mind, Robin reached into a pouch on his belt to pull out his cell phone (something Bruce always berated him about having on patrol, but who was laughing now?). Hitting Wally’s contact, Robin launched himself onto the next rooftop, tucking into a roll as he landed. Batman had just gotten to the first rooftop behind him. “Come on, pick up, pick up, pick up-“

“YYYello,” came the casual response on the other end.

“KF!” Robin panted.

“Dick, what’s go-“

“ _Kid Flash_ ,” Robin interrupted, “I need you to call the League. Right now.” The insistence on using their hero identities would let Wally know that he was in uniform. There was no telling who was listening.

Wally’s tone change instantly. “Robin, what’s happening?”

“Batman,” Robin grunted, “Gone rogue. Mind control. He has a gun.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Wally cursed. With a few muffled shouts and distant replies from what sounded like his parents, the speedster took off, wind blowing over the microphone. “I’m getting Barry.”

“Get anyone who can help,” said Robin. “We don’t need everyone, but I mean… it’s _Batman_.”

“Enough said. Try not to go and get yourself shot,” Wally replied. “Where can we find you?”

The sound of a heavy body slamming down onto the roof behind him prompted Robin to run faster. “Hang on a sec,” he rushed. Stuffing the phone back into his pouch, Robin broke into a sprint, changing directions with a slide at the last second and forcing Batman to jump into an alley. He cringed when he heard his mentor fall, the rusty screech of a fire ladder grating echoing from below – Batman could only do so much when he still had that gun in his hand. Besides, he’d be fine. Batman took harder hits than that.

Sprinting in the opposite direction, Robin leapt onto higher building, forcing him to grab onto the ledge to haul himself over. The pain from his wrist was only just starting to catch up with him, throbbing through his fingertips and down to his bones. He pushed through it. Reaching back into his pouch, Robin took out his phone again.

“-in? Robin! Are you there?!”

“I’m here,” Robin panted. “It’s fine, I’m fine.” Behind him, he could hear Batman recovering and taking to the chase again. “Listen, just get the League. I’m taking him to the Wayne Enterprises’ warehouse at the dockyards.”

“Got it. Be safe.”

Robin didn’t reply. Ending the call, he shoved the phone into its pouch again, freeing his hands to use his grappling gun. As Batman slowly caught up from behind, he swung his way down to Gotham Bay. If there was going to be any property damage, it might as well be Wayne.

The scent of high tide, of salt water and industrial smoke and seaweed, assaulted Robin’s nose as he descended on the warehouse. He broke through a skylight his cape wrapped around him as shattered glass fell with his entrance. Robin landed in a crouch, his legs aching, on an iron catwalk 20 feet from the warehouse floor. He afforded himself only two seconds to catch his breath before he was leaping off from the rail, a series of flips and bounds lowering him to the next level. Had to hide. Fast.

Robin sprinted to the nearest shipping container and pulled the metal door shut with only a slight crack to let distorted moonlight through. It was just as he closed the door, when the creaking hinges silence to an echo, that Batman descended through a skylight on the other side of the warehouse.

Safe for now, but Robin knew it wouldn’t last. Batman would find him. So, he had to come up with a plan. Robin held his breath as he watched his mentor stalk over the iron grating. As he moved, the moonlight glinted off the gun in his hand. Now that he had a good look at it, Robin could see that it was high caliber – the illegal kind. Could probably pierced through steel. The magazine was large too, heavy duty bullets that likely shattered on impact, about ten per mag.

Ten. Batman had already used three. Robin just had to make him waste the other seven. It wasn’t a very good plan, but it was something. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Robin kicked open the shipping container and rolled across the short, empty space to the next one. A shot rang out, missing him by a few feet. One down, six to go.

Now that Batman knew where he was, the vigilante jumped off the catwalk, flipping over Robin with his gun outstretched. He fired off two rounds at the boy, who rolled out of the way, throwing out the door of a container to take the bullet for him. As he thought, the bullets pierced straight through the metal. Four.

With Batman landing, the most vulnerable position as he’d taught him, Robin threw out a barrage of batarangs, hoping to knock the gun out of his hands, shorten this up. No such luck. Batman sprung up instantly, throwing himself forward and kicking the door back. Robin was thrown onto the ground with a shout and barely managed to scramble out of the way before another shot was fired. Three.

Robin pushed himself back somersaulting away and launching himself off his hands. His wrist burned in pain, but he muscled through. Finally upright and a good distance away, he landed in a crouch, the momentum pushing him back. Batman was quick to follow. Robin spun up, making another attempt to kick the gun out of his hands. Batman blocked with his forearm, reaching around to grab his protégé by the ankle and throw him into a tall stack of boxes. Robin handed on his back, the wind knocked out of him.

As the stack tumbled down, the boxes became an obstacle between Robin and Batman. The boy wonder used it to his advantage while Batman was struggling to get through it. He crawled out from under it, throwing a batarang at a lift truck a few feet away. As it struck the tire, Batman turned and fired, believing the sound to be Robin trying to get away. Apparently, mind control had messed with his senses. Two.

With Batman turned away, Robin took his last change. He jumped, latching onto his mentor’s back. Batman roared in fury, backing up against the metal wall of the shipping container to try to get him off to no success. Robin grunted, but refused to let go. Batman’s fury grew, his arm coming back in an attempt to shoot Robin from behind. Robin grappled with his arm, using all of his strength to deter him. In the struggle, the trigger was pulled, and a shot broke through a glass skyline above them. One.

Robin reached into his belt, pulled out a taser, and struck Batman’s neck, right where the cowl met his cape. Batman cried out, muscles seizing as, finally, he dropped the gun. The Dark Knight went down hard, landing on his stomach. Fighting to catch his breath, Robin crawled off of him and sat back against the nearest crate. The warehouse was silent, Gotham Harbor humming ambiently outside.

 A small shadow flickered over him. Robin looked up toward the floor to ceiling door that opened up to the harbor. In the sky, a group of specs, easily mistaken for a flock of birds. In his exhaustion, it took a moment for his vision to clear, to see Superman, Wonder Woman, and Green Lantern descend from the night sky. Robin felt relief wash over him. Pushing himself to his feet, nursing his arm against his torso, he dragged himself toward the opening with a smile on his face. It wasn’t often that Robin felt entirely out of his depth, but when it came to fighting his own mentor, he was more than happy for the help.

Two red and yellow blurs zoomed into the other end of the dockyard, Flash and Kid Flash skidding to a stop. In the near distance, Robin watched as Kid Flash looked around for him until their eyes met. If Robin was smiling before, he was beaming now.

“Batman, _no_!”

Robin looked up. Superman was flying faster down toward them. In his peripherals, Flash and Kid Flash had become blurs of yellow and red again. A shadow fell over his side. Robin turned. Not ten feet away, Batman stood with the weapon in his hand, pointed at Robin, and -

Zero.

The gun clattered to the ground as the final shot echoed like a harsh slap off the warehouse walls. The sound had the same effect on Batman, a stinging strike that knocked the air from his lungs like he was waking from a nightmare. His ears were ringing, drowning out all sound. But, as it cleared, one sound rose above the noise. Robin’s agonized screaming. Batman felt something inside him break.

Stumbling forward, Batman struggled to keep up with all that was happening. Before he could get any closer, he was being restrained from behind, Superman’s voice in his ear begging him to _“fight it, damn it, fight!”_ but Batman couldn’t hear, couldn’t hear a thing over Robin’s screaming.

His head burst into white hot pain. Batman gritted his teeth, falling to his knees, Superman’s arms replaced by a corporeal green light wrapping around him in a tight bond. The Leaguers watched in horror as what looked like a little white worm with a gaping mouth of microscopic teeth crawled its way out of Batman’s ear, between the folds of his cowl. The creature fell to the ground, instantly apprehended by Wonder Woman.

Superman knelt in front of him. “Batman,” he whispered. “You still in there?”

But Batman didn’t even look to acknowledge him. His gaze was locked on his protégé, writing on the ground in pain. Flash was applying pressure to the wound, but even against his red suit, the blood was gruesomely obvious. Kid Flash knelt by Robin’s head, frantic and pleading with him to stay with him. “What have I done?” he breathed.

Superman’s face fell. “Batman, it wasn’t-“

Batman glared Superman before he could dare to finish. Turning that dangerous look to Green Lantern, he rose to his feet, and silently commanded that he be set free. The moment the restraints had disappeared with a wisp of light, Batman was rushing forward, dropping down beside Robin and the already sizable pool of blood.

“Robin! Come on, come on look at me, babe. Don’t do this. You’re okay, you’re gonna be okay,” Kid Flash rambled on, desperately trying to calm the younger hero down.

The term of affection was not lost on Batman, but now was not the time to dwell on it. He reached out toward Robin, only to draw back when Kid Flash suddenly swatted his hand away. The boy’s eyes were red and swollen, spilling over with panicked tears as he curled around Robin. Batman’s eyes narrowed. Coming to his senses, Kid Flash looked away and moved back, allowing Batman access to his partner.

With a nod to Flash, Batman had the speedster lift his hands just a moment to assess the damage. The bullet had pierces through Robin’s kevlar, due to the caliber of the weapon and the short range of the shot. Batman felt his stomach churn as Flash pressed down against the wound again, causing Robin to scream out in pain. Kid Flash flinched.

Batman swallowed hard. Robin was inconsolable, writhing and struggling, his voice raw from shouting in pain. Batman tapped at the boy’s cheek gently to coax his attention. “Robin,” he said, his own voice a stern and compassionate contrast to the agonized crying. “Breathe. You are going to be okay.”

That tone was on that, even in a state of pure torment, Robin could recognize easily. One that was difficult to disobey. Robin managed a nod, his cries dimming down to heaved gasps through clenched teeth. 

Even with Robin calming down, Batman knew that he was running out of time. “Gotham Free Clinic,” he forced out. “Take him _now_. Go through the entrance in the alley, the door uses the same recognition as the Cave and the Watchtower. Dr. Leslie Thompson will be there. She can be trusted. Go.”

There was no need, and no time, for explanation of argument. Flash nodded, gathering the boy in his arms and holding him securely. Together, he and Kid Flash raced out of the warehouse, leaving the remaining four members of the League in complete stillness. The silence was a thick fog in their throats.

Batman stared after them long after they’d vanished, until his gaze was drawn down to the blood soaking into his gloves. His breath hitched in his throat. Robin’s blood was on his hands. In every sense of the word.

Wonder Woman crouched down in front of him, her hand firm on his shoulder. “Listen to me. This is not the time to blame yourself,” she urged.

Batman didn’t respond. The was so much blood.

“Batman,” Superman snapped. “You’re in shock.”

Green Lantern stepped up. “The kid needs you.”

Batman closed his eyes and exhaled roughly, the action seeming to tremble through his whole body.  For a moment, no one spoke, as Batman pushed himself to his feet and struggled to pull himself together. It was disturbing. None of them had ever seen Batman so – broken.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Within the next hour, Batman had returned home, changed into civilian clothes, and made his way to the Gotham Free Clinic. He didn’t speak another word to the League, and Alfred only received a “Dick is in the hospital,” for an explanation before Bruce was off. He was tense, tight jawed and livid, unwilling to waste more than a second in getting to his ward.

Gotham at this hour was sleepwalking. Traffic lights changed at empty intersections, red, yellow, and green glowing on the pavement. The few cars on the roads rolled to their destinations. This far from the red light district, the city could almost be described as quaint, if it weren’t for the crumbling buildings and the shuttered windows. Old 19th century neighborhoods were left abandoned, recused to broken windows and cracked walls, chipped paints and chain link fences. Bruce felt the city wrapping around his throat as he sped through the streets. There were no cops around here to pull him over. They were needed in the active quarters. Here, crime had swept through and left the inhabitants tired.

Gotham Free Clinic was a building in better shape than most in this neighborhood. They offered care to ordinary citizens, criminals, and drug addicts without regard for their background. Perhaps that was why it stood so clean – out of a mutual respect. Dr. Leslie Thompson ran the clinic with an iron fist. She’d been a close friend of Bruce’s father, Thomas Wayne, and was one of the few people Bruce trusted with his secret.  In the case that either he or Robin should ever need urgent medical care beyond what they could administer at the Cave, they had arrangements to come here- until tonight, Robin had never needed it.

Bruce entered through the front door, grateful to find the few people in the waiting room either uninterested or too high to recognize him. It would make things a lot easier if the press didn’t see him here. The moment he walked in, Leslie emerged from the doors to the treatment quarter. With her greying hair pulled back into a tight bun, she glared at Bruce from over the rim of her glasses. Bruce nodded, and without a word, followed her through the swinging doors.

There was a restricted ward in the back, accessible only through Leslie’s swipe card. Courtesy of Bruce, the security in that wing was nearly up to par with Wayne Manor. It only made sense, being that this is where he would be at his most vulnerable. Only once the heavy metal doors were shut behind them, leading into a dimly lit hallway not any different than the others in the public wing, did Bruce finally speak.

“Leslie?” he began, his own fists clenching at the way his voice trembled. “Is he-“

“The damage is extensive, Bruce,” the old woman sighed. She slipped her glasses off her face and pinched the bridge of her nose. “And a boy Dick’s age can’t handle something like this easily. The blood loss alone-“

“Leslie, _please_ ,” Bruce snapped.

Dr. Thompson looked up at him with a cool gaze. “The operation was successful, and the bullet has been removed. I stitched him back up best as I could, Bruce. But he is far from stable. At this point… it is too early to tell. That’s the truth of it.”

Ice crawled its way down Bruce’s spine. He scrubbed his hand over his face, forcing himself to take a steadying breath.

Leslie, however, was not finished. “He is fourteen years old, Bruce-“

“Don’t,” Bruce cut her off. His hand dropped to his side. “I know. Just – don’t. Not right now.”

Leslie sighed. “What _happened_?”

“I don’t know,” Bruce admitted with difficulty. He squared off his shoulders. Down the hall, he could see Barry, also in his civies, leaning against the wall next to one of the rooms. Didn’t take a detective to figure out which one was Dick’s. “I’m going to find out though.” Bruce began to walk down the hall. He hadn’t gotten more than five steps before Leslie’s voice cut through him.

“Do you believe in God, Bruce?”

The man stopped. He did not turn back to face her. “I do, in a way,” he said. “But I believe he’s turned his back on us.”

“Do you pray?”

“Never.”

Leslie paused. Her shoes clicked on the floor as she headed back to her other patients. “Maybe now would be a good time to start.” By the time Bruce turned around to reply, the heavy metal door had already shut behind her. Bruce exhaled.

Barry pushed off the wall as Bruce approached, empathy for his comrade rolling off of him in waves. Most of the League new each other’s identities at this point, those in the original group anyway. They’d been through too much together not to let it slip. It had been Dick’s decision, against Bruce’s orders, to tell Wally his identity. At a time like this, however, he could see its advantages.

Barry stepped up. “Hey. Any updates from Dr. Thompson? We’ve been out here since Dick got out of the OR, but she hasn’t told us much.”

Bruce sighed. “It’s touch and go,” he said.

Barry deflated, his shoulders dropping. He clearly wanted to say he was sorry, that he wished there was something he could do, that it wasn’t Bruce’s fault – but he thought better. This was not a night to let his mouth run. Instead, he placed his hand on Bruce’s shoulder with a tight squeeze, nodding in solidarity. Bruce let him. As Barry’s hand dropped, the blonde ducked his head in through the door, left slightly ajar. “Kid. Time to go. We’ll…” Barry struggled to find the right words. He didn’t have it in him to tell Wally that Dick might not make it through the night. “We’ll come back in the morning.” Regardless of what happened, that much was not a lie.

Bruce peered into what he could see of the room. Inside, Wally was sat with his back to the door on the edge of Dick’s bed. Only the end was visible, Dick’s legs like thin mounds under the crisp white sheets. Wally had been speaking softly, his voice smothered by the darkness and soft moonlight, but stopped when his Uncle called him. The boy was obviously hesitant to leave, but a sigh he leaned over toward Dick’s head, the view obscured by the door, and sat back up. Moments later he was walking out, rubbing his eyes on the sleeve of his plaid shirt.

Wally stopped in front of Bruce, finding the courage to look him in the eye. “I’m sorry,” he said. “About earlier – in the warehouse.”

It took a moment for him to remember the boy slapping his hand away. Bruce shook his head. “Go home, Wally. Get some rest,” he paused. “And thank you.”

Wally nodded, his unspoken forgiveness understood. “Promise you’ll call.”

It was now Bruce’s turn to nod. Without another word, the speedsters walked their way out of the ward. 

[Finally alone](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5mJ08-pyDLg), Bruce pushed the door open and stepped into Dick’s room, clicking it shut behind him. The dark quiet of the room swallowed any sound but the soft tone of the heart monitor, and the oxygen tube over Dick’s face. Moonlight cascaded in through the slits in the blinds, twinkling lights from the city outside the window dancing between the cracks. The gentle blue spilled onto the clean sheets of Dick’s bed, tucked neatly around his body and hiding his bandages.

Bruce stopped at the end of his bed. He’d heard it before, a hundred times, that you never realized how young your child was until you saw them in a hospital bed, how small they were compared to the gravity of the machines keeping them alive. Some cliché that he found too suddenly held too much truth. It knocked the breath out of him.

Dick was fifteen years old. He’d been only seven when his parents had been murdered, spent four months in an orphanage in Europe before Bruce had gotten the papers finalized to bring him to Gotham. Eight years old when Bruce started teaching him martial arts, because he thought it would be ‘therapeutic’. Nine when he became Robin.

Bruce had been twenty five. He’d only been Batman for three years on his own. Twenty five years old, and he had decided to take this boy in because he saw so much of himself in him, had wanted so desperately to prevent him from becoming exactly like him. He’d had absolutely no idea what he was getting himself into. It had been a complete gut decision, and while the four months of visits and paper work, of fighting to bring Dick home had been good time to really think it over, Bruce had never turned back.

And once again, Bruce wanted nothing on this earth more than to bring him home.

Bruce made his way toward the window, bracing an arm against the wall above his head as he looked out at the moon. He was thirty three, now. A little less rash, more level headed, and so much better for having Dick in his life. At twenty five, he’d known that with the life he was forging, he would never have a family.

Bruce couldn’t remember when it had happened. When he had stopped thinking about Dick as his adopted son, his ward, and starting thinking of him of his _son_.

It was excruciating. Knowing all of that, feeling it in his bones, blood forgotten, and knowing that within hours, minutes, seconds, it could all be ripped away. Bruce pushed off from the window, taking up the chair sitting against the wall and pulling it to the side of Dick’s bed. He took Dick’s hand in both of his, engulfing him entirely as he leaned forward, elbows on the mattress, pressing Dick’s hand to his forehead.

It was the longest night of Bruce Wayne’s life. For the first time in decades, he prayed. God Almighty, he was only a _boy_. Let him live.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Leslie came through the night, knocking on the door with a tap of her knuckles, expecting no response as she monitored Dick’s condition. She brought three cups of coffee and a blueberry muffin for Bruce, and during the 3am visit refused to budge until she watched him eat. Impossible to refuse, that woman.

Bruce’s phone was on silent, tossed carelessly on the nightstand, but even so it would light up every so often with a text from one of the League members, expressing sympathy, asking if there was anything they could do to help. Bruce didn’t touch it.

It was 5am when Dick first began to stir, a slow process of fluttering eyelids and twitching fingers and toes. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but the slight tint of lilac light seemed to hold its breath outside, the stars waiting in the dark sky. When Dick opened his eyes, Bruce shot forward in his chair.

Dick licked his cracked, dry lips, his voice cracked and hoarse. He struggled to speak. “Wasn’t your fault.”

Bruce didn’t tell Dick that he couldn’t believe that. “Were you scared?” he found himself asking instead. Dick nodded, humming under his breath. Bruce exhaled. “So was I.”

“S’okay to be scared sometimes,” Dick murmured.

Bruce was laughing under his breath before he noticed the wetness on his cheeks, dripping down his jaw. Some kid. “Yes it is.”

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Like I don’t know either, I was going to just jot it down in three pages based on a dream that I had and then it got all serious. Like 12 pages of “woops”.
> 
> Also to answer the question that nobody asked, just want to point out that my view of Gotham is heavily influence by growing up outside Detroit.
> 
> I should be studying for midterms.


End file.
